


and right there where we stood was holy ground

by iliveinfantasies



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event [1]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hicsqueak, ww2018winterfluffevent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:44:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16809931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: "Pippa’s eyes glittered like the snow every time she saw it fall."My take on the "First Snow" Prompt for the Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event.Hicsqueak.





	and right there where we stood was holy ground

**Author's Note:**

> Let the record show that I am an angst queen, but I am REALLY TRYING to tone it up to at the very least melancholy for this event. This is the first fic I've ever posted for this fandom, so hopefully it captures what I want it to.
> 
> Also, come visit me on Tumblr at iliveinfantasylife.

Pippa’s eyes glittered like the snow every time she saw it fall.

She told Hecate, once, back when they were still at Amulet’s, sneaking in shadows and pressing themselves into corredor corners (back when Hecate had mastered the art of of the transference spell, in secret, long before they were ever supposed to--back when Pippa hadn’t, yet, and so Hecate slowed herself down), that snow made the world _feel_ like magic. Vast and glittering, buzzing with the same quiet, electric energy that they all felt in their own blood.

And, Hecate supposes, that they still do.

Only they’re a little less bright, a little less wild than they once were. And that, she knows, is on her.

Pippa told her, back then, that the first snow is the boldest. _The most magical_ , she’d say, palms pressed to the cold, leaded glass of her windows at night. _The most free._ Then she’d spin around, smile on her lips, bright, shining laughter in her eyes. _Don’t you think, Hiccup?_ She’d say, and Hecate would raise an eyebrow at Pippa and sigh. _It’s just snow, Pip,_ she’d say, but she’d let the lips of her mouth twitch up, the corners rising, just a little, and Pippa would grin, and wrinkle her nose, and say, _I knew you thought so too._

Sometimes, Hecate misses that Pippa--the one from all those years ago, the one with the bold, gleaming smiles and the wide, open eyes.

Pippa watches the snow with reverence, now. The sort of small, crisp smile she sees on Pippa’s face during conference dinners perched on her lips--not quite happy, not quite light; never free. Not like they thought they would be.

And that, Hecate thinks, hurts worst of all.

But there are other things, about this new Pippa; the one Hecate is still learning, still muddling her way through getting to know.

More guarded, perhaps, but more focused. Her magic sits around her shoulders, these days, emanating in waves; wide and shining in a way Hecate herself--magic pointed and precise and far, far too strong--envies, sometimes. In a way that is truly, bafflingly beautiful.

The way she speaks to her students softly, with understanding; the way she pulls in the types of students that no one else quite understands. The outcasts, the outliers. _Like you, Hiccup,_ she didn’t say. But she didn’t need to.  


The way she forms sparks in the air, fingers dancing along the shadows, pressing the darkness into lightness into pure, cresting magic.

The way she looks at Hecate, sometimes, when she thinks that Hecate can’t see her.

Like she’s gotten a piece of herself, back. Like she’s not quite fully formed, not yet; Not healed, then, and not entirely forgiven, not quite. But she’s _getting_ there. Like Hecate is there, and whole, and solid, and _hers._

Like if Hecate were to leave her again, she’d truly break this time.

The way she makes Hecate shiver, under her fingers. Cupping a cheek, running a finger down an arm. Kissing her, softly, gently; magic swirling light-like-sparks under each other’s skin.

And the way she is now, fingers pressed to the window pane, breath forming icy circles on the glass.

“Hecate,” she says, hair messy from the flight, falling in loose pieces around her cheeks. “Hiccup, it’s _snowing._ ”

Her eyes shining, and bright, and glittering, like the snow.

New things, then, and old things, too.


End file.
